


Evening the Score

by marleymars



Series: Attachment Theory [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: I don't know, I'm Sorry, M/M, Not Beta Read, kind of, porn with some some plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marleymars/pseuds/marleymars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DISCONTINUED</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evening the Score

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know. I don’t know, so don’t ask. I made Armin a dog groomer, because I used to be a dog groomer, and I don’t know, and I’m working on a multichapter Eremin story so I took a break from that to write this because I wanted to write some smut, and it’s Irwin/ Armin because why the fuck not. Also I’m sorry for making Jean a much bigger douche in this than he actually is. I don’t know what I’m doing, don’t look at me. Enjoy the porn (it’s toward the end if you don’t feel like reading the rest of this).
> 
> p.s. This is not beta'd and it was edited by me like five minutes ago after I finished writing it.

Being a dog groomer was harder than it looked. Armin talked to people every day who seemed to think that his job was easy, that all he did all day was play with doggies and give them fun, soapy baths, but this was not the case. Did he play with the dogs? Yes. Did he love them? Yes, again. But no other job he’d ever had had caused him as much physical pain, or as much aggravation.

Dog owners, he found, at their basest level were overwhelmingly ignorant about the animals in their care. Whenever somebody walked into the salon with a dog that was matted to the skin and said, “I don’t want him shaved,” Armin was tempted to take out his clippers and jam them down the owner’s throat. Instead, he had to convince them that shaving was the best option, and no, he wasn’t going to torture their pet just for the sake of aesthetics. He’d learned fairly quickly not to give ground on the issue. If they didn’t want to let him do what was best for their dog, then they could go somewhere else.

Usually, Armin got his way. Even with the dogs, who were not always the best listeners. But he was gentle and firm, and he wasn’t afraid of even the biggest or most viciously behaved dogs. In the end, they were just afraid, and it was his job to make sure they left the salon feeling better than when they’d been dropped off. So skilled was he at getting even the most difficult animals to behave that his fellow groomers had started jokingly referring to him as the “Dog Whisperer,” though he felt that his methods were a little kinder than those displayed on the show.

Some days were worse than others. That was true of any line of work, but Armin still didn’t appreciate being given a hard time by some idiot who spent an hour arguing with him over the price of a haircut for her standard poodle, or somebody who said their dog had gotten fleas at their salon. “People are so full of shit sometimes!” he shouted in frustration in the back of the shop. There were enough driers going that nobody could hear him, though his frustration was obvious to his peers.

“Don’t let them get to you, Armin,” Christa told him as she force-dried a rowdy little Jack Russell. “They just don’t understand.”

No, they didn’t, and he had to excuse himself for a few minutes in order to calm down. Outside it was cool. Autumn was coming, and he wished he’d grabbed his coat on the way out, but he didn’t feel like going back in yet so he dropped down onto the back stoop and breathed deeply of the crisp air. _Jean should be on break soon,_ he thought as he placed his hand over where his phone sat in his pocket. He waited a minute, pretending to be patient, but gave in in the end and pulled it out. Today had been rough, and he thought hearing his boyfriend’s voice would make him feel a little better.

The line rang, and rang, and rang, but nobody picked up. That wasn’t too unusual, if Jean left his phone at his desk or was talking to a client. Armin hung up and dialed in his work number. The secretary picked up, and he asked if Jean Kirschtein was in. “Jean? Oh, no, he went home early. Said he wasn’t feeling well.”

“He did?” Armin asked, worry creeping up and overwhelming the sense of anxiety he’d already been feeling. He thanked the secretary, then tried Jean’s cell again. When that didn’t work, he texted him, wishing that his boyfriend had a landline phone at his apartment. It vexed him to no end when he couldn’t get in contact with somebody, even when he didn’t desperately want to talk to them like he did right now.

An hour later Jean still hadn’t answered him, and Armin was beginning to panic. It was entirely possible that his boyfriend had turned his phone off, or was sleeping, but what if he wasn’t? What if he was so sick he couldn’t move, or he had gotten hurt somehow? An overactive imagination that normally served him so well suddenly became a curse. His mind began churning out one horrific scenario after another, starting with Jean unconscious with a fever and ending with him dying in some horrible Final Destination-style accident involving a nail gun and a swimming pool. Armin knew he was being ridiculous. Jean lived in an apartment building that did not even boast a swimming pool, nor did he own a nail gun, but that was beside the point.

“I think I need to go home,” he finally said after enduring all this for as long as he possibly could, which wasn’t very long all things considered. The salon was open until seven, and it was only four, but he didn’t have any other dogs scheduled so the manager told him to get lost.

“You’re making the dogs upset with all this nervous energy,” Ymir told him, scowling as he collected his things. A hurried apology was all he was able to manage before racing for the door.

Despite his mounting fear that Jean was lying dead in a ditch somewhere, Armin made a brief stop-off at home to change. His apartment was tiny, but it served its purpose, which was to be a place to store his things and occasionally where he ate and slept. More and more he found he was barely ever home. Most of his time was spent working, running errands, going out with friends, or spending time with Jean. Being a legitimate adult was a lot of work, but it was better than living at home, which so many of his friends still had to do. He knew he was lucky to have a decent job, and a boyfriend who admittedly drove him a little crazy at times, but meant well.

“Jean, you aren’t answering your phone and they told me you left work early, so I’m coming over. Call me if you get this before I get there, okay?” At this point he didn’t expect an answer. Not when Jean hadn’t even texted him back yet.

The building where his boyfriend lived was twenty minutes away by car. Armin made the drive in ten, breaking God-knew how many traffic laws and not caring. He skidded to a stop at the curb and jumped out of his car, then headed toward the front door as fast as he possibly could without actually running. He had a key to the building, and to Jean’s apartment. They had only been dating for a few weeks when Jean had given them to him, and he had happily returned the gesture.

Once inside, Armin ignored the elevator and headed straight for the stairs. The stupid machine was slow enough under normal circumstances, and the blond couldn’t be bothered to wait. He had to make sure Jean was alright—he just hoped he was actually _at_ home, and not in some emergency room where Armin wouldn’t be able to find him.

“Jean?” he called as he entered the apartment. It was dark, and on first glance appeared empty. He took a few steps in, reaching for the hallway light switch, only to pause when he stepped on something soft. It was Jean’s work coat. Concern made his nerves jangle as he bent and plucked the piece of clothing from the floor. “Jean?” he called again. A thump sounded from deeper within the apartment, and he jumped slightly at the sudden noise. “Jean?” he said again, voice uncertain and wavering. What if there was somebody else here? A burglar, or some other criminal, and that was why Jean hadn’t answered him?

Steeling himself, Armin crept quietly down the hall, passing the living room and the kitchen and pausing once he reached the open bathroom door. There were noises coming from Jean’s bedroom, creaking and groaning noises that he desperately tried to make sense of as he closed the distance between himself and the door. For a moment he hesitated, considered just turning around and walking out, because the thought that had suddenly just occurred to him couldn’t be true and if he left well-enough alone then it wouldn’t have to be. He could pretend he was never here, and he’d never heard anything.

Then came the sound of someone gasping, the noise so familiar that it sent a flush of heat creeping up the back of Armin’s neck. His hand was on the knob, and before he could second-guess himself he threw the door open.

One look was all he needed. One look to see his boyfriend in bed with another man. A man who had him bent over and begging the way that Armin did when Jean fucked him.

“Armin?!” Jean cried, but the blond was already headed for the front door, Jean’s jacket falling from his grasp—he had forgotten he was even holding it. “Armin, wait!”

 _No_ , he thought, biting his lip as he paused in the hallway. _Why should I wait? What can he possibly have to say for himself?_

“Armin,” Jean gasped behind him, and he turned around to see the man he’d been so worried about five minutes ago panting in nothing but a pair of boxers. They had probably been the first thing he’d grabbed off the floor. At least he had the good grace to look ashamed of himself.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Armin said thickly as the other man stood there half-naked, jaw working as he tried to think of something to say.

“We can’t just not talk about it,” Jean argued, using that tone, that _stupid_ tone he always used when he thought Armin was being unreasonable.

“Sure we can,” Armin said, feeling slightly hysterical, “I can leave, and you can go back to…back to…” he couldn’t even say it.

“Jesus, Armin,” Jean said, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I…look, it’s not—,”

“What? It’s not what it looks like? Because I got a pretty good look, Jean, so tell me how it’s not what it looks like!”

“I wasn’t going to say that!” Jean snapped, “I don’t know what I was going to say!”

“So don’t fucking say anything! That’s what you’re best at, right?”

“Goddammit, Armin, don’t even start!” Jean said, waving a finger in his face that Armin wished he had the guts to snap in two. “Look, I’m sorry that this is how you found out about this, I really am, but can you really stand there and tell me you’re surprised?”

Armin felt his jaw drop. “How…how can you even ask me that? Are you saying I should have seen this coming?”

“Maybe.”

“How? How was I supposed to…Are you saying this is _my_ fault? My fault _how_?” The very implication made his head spin. Jean could be stubborn, he could be a jerk, but Armin never would have thought he’d do something like _this_. He was completely blindsided, and he didn’t understand what was being said to him. It was wildly different from how he normally felt, he who understood and saw so much, who read so deeply into everything. No, he hadn’t seen _this_ coming at all.

“I’ve tried dropping hints to you Armin. I tried telling you what I wanted, what I needed, but everything always winds up being about _you_. Armin always gets what Armin wants, isn’t that the way it goes?”

“What are you even talking about?!” Armin cried, “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me! What hints? What do you mean I always get what I want?”

“You’re a manipulator, Armin. Don’t try to act like you don’t know, either, because you do.”

“B-but I…” Did he do that? Well, he knew how to work a conversation around to turn out in his favor—that’s what he did all day at work, but he hadn’t ever done it with Jean. Had he? Not for anything important, surely. Maybe he’d done so teasingly, maybe in the bedroom… “Are you…are you saying you cheated on me because I wouldn’t fuck you?” he whispered. It was absurd. They had sex all the time. Jean could have _told_ him that that was what he wanted.

Jean only sighed. It was a weary, exasperated sound. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it? I was going to tell you about Marco, but…,” he shrugged. “It’s over now, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry,” Armin said, voice thick, “And _you_ don’t get to dump _me_! If you’d just fucking said something—! You’re a bastard, Jean! I hope you’re fucking happy!” He made sure to slam the door good and hard behind him, and then he was running. Running without a destination, or a single thought in his head. He just knew he wanted to get away from _there_ , from _that_ place, from the thing he’d just seen and the words Jean had said to him.

He didn’t know where he was going, and when he finally realized his lungs were burning and his legs were threatening to give way underneath him he also realized he didn’t know where he was. It was a part of the city he had never bothered to visit—the downtown area, the place where all the big corporations and banks did all their business, where the buildings reached up away from the ground to touch the sky. Chest heaving, he gulped down air, only realizing that his run wasn’t the only reason he was breathing so hard when he felt the hot tears tracking down his face.

Without a thought, he staggered back until he stumbled into something. Thankfully it was just a bench, and he collapsed down onto it, buried his face into his hands, and began to weep. Since coming to live in the city, he’d seen a lot of strange things, and at first he would stop and gape until he realized he was staring. Nowadays he paid little mind to things like screaming curbside prophets, or people who openly wept in public. Likewise, he expected the multitudes of pedestrians here to do the same.

He cried in great heaving sobs, cried like he hadn’t cried in years. There was an awful pain in his chest, an aching chasm that was filled with Jean’s horrible words, with the image of him being fucked by somebody Armin had never seen before. He realized his heart was broken, shattered into pieces in the space of less than half-an-hour. _Oh, God, how could he do this to me?_

“Are you alright?” The words were spoken gently enough, but they still gave Armin quite a start. He looked up through blurry eyes, wiping at his face with his sleeve, and was embarrassed to see he had drawn some attention after all. The man staring down at him was tall, even bent over as he was. He was watching Armin with a look of mild concern, blue eyes slightly narrowed, hair blond and slicked back. He wore a suit underneath an overcoat, and was carrying a briefcase. If he was one of the businessmen that worked in this area then Armin was shocked he had bothered to stop at all.

“I’m fine,” he said, sniffling as he wiped his eyes again—he couldn’t stop crying even now. _God, I’m such a baby_. “No,” he amended, choking on his own words, “That was a lie. I’m not fine. At all.” And then he was sobbing all over again. Only now that he had an audience his public blubbering seemed more than a little pathetic.

“Here.” He looked to the side and saw the stranger had taken a seat next to him, and was now offering him a travel-sized packet of tissues.

“Th-thank you,” he stammered, taking the pack and tearing it open with trembling fingers. He turned away as he blew his nose and wiped his eyes dry. For now it seemed he was done with the tears, though he still felt like somebody had run over his heart with a steam-roller.

“You’re welcome,” said the businessman, “If this is too personal a question then feel free to ignore it, but may I ask why you’re so upset?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Armin said, voice cracking like he was thirteen all over again.

“Alright.”

“No it’s _not_. My stupid boyfriend broke up with me,” he blurted, damning his emotionally loosened tongue. Telling a total stranger that he was gay was not normally something he went around doing, but at the moment he found he didn’t really care.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I caught him cheating, and he had the fucking audacity to break up with _me_!” Armin said, nearly shouting as he was overcome by a surge of anger. Now that he had calmed down, he realized just how furious he truly was. The absurdity of Jean’s motivations, the selfish denial of responsibility, the way he’d implied that it was all Armin’s fault—was he serious? Was the _fucking serious_?

“Forgive me for saying so, but it sounds to me like you might be better off without him. Then again, I don’t have all the information,” the stranger said amiably enough. Armin gave him a wary, sidelong glance. He sounded sincere, but it was rare for a total stranger to be so _nice_ for absolutely no reason.

“You didn’t give me your name,” Armin said, tossing his used tissues into a barrel next to the bench and wishing he had some hand sanitizer.

“Irwin Smith,” said the man, offering a kind smile that Armin thought was meant to be disarming. “And you are…?”

“Armin Arlert,” he muttered, staring down at his still unsteady hands.

“Well, Armin, it sounds like you’re having a stressful day.”

Armin was surprised to hear himself laugh. “That’s putting it lightly, Mr. Smith.”

“Irwin.” Whatever.

He stood, glancing around at his surroundings and loosing a heavy sigh. “I should go,” he said, “I left my car in front of his building and I should probably move it.”

Irwin got to his feet beside him, and Armin took a step back when faced with the man’s full height in comparison to his own. Everyone always teased him for being so tiny, as if it were something he had any control over. _Like I’d have chosen to be this short_ , he thought, fidgeting self-consciously in Irwin’s shadow. “I could drive you, if you like.”

“That’s very kind, but I can walk. I got dumped, not run over by a truck,” Armin said dryly. To his chagrin, the tall man chuckled at this.

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee then, at least.”

“Why?” Armin asked, wondering why this guy couldn’t seem to take a hint.

“I’d hate to leave someone on their own after seeing them crying their eyes out over a broken heart,” Irwin said, and Armin felt his resolve weaken. Did he want to be alone? No. He hated being on his own; he had spent much of his life that way and it ate at him. It was why he hardly ever went home to his empty little apartment, why he spent most nights out with friends or at Jean’s. 

“Fine,” he sighed, making sure he sounded as reluctant at the prospect of coffee with this strange man as he possibly could. But in a way he was relieved. If he went home now he would wind up calling one of his friends. Maybe Eren, or Mikasa, or both of them, and he’d probably cry over the phone, and Eren would rage, and Mikasa would quietly offer to kill Jean for him. They were his best friends, his family, but he hated being a burden to them. They knew all of his problems, were the ones he always ran crying to when he was upset. Better to get the worst of it off of his chest now, dump it all on some guy he didn’t know, and then never see him again. That way he could be rational about all of this later on. That way he could appear strong, so Jean wouldn’t know how badly his actions had hurt him.

Irwin led him to a small coffee shop a block and a half away. It was the sort of upscale place that Armin usually skirted. He did well for himself but not so well that he could afford a five dollar cup of coffee with his breakfast every morning. The coffee wasn’t bad, though, which annoyed him. He had been hoping it would taste like crap so that he could turn his nose up at it and grumble about it being overpriced.

“Thanks,” he said when Irwin handed him the cup. Cream and three sugars, like he liked it. Jean had always chided him for adding so much sugar, but Armin had a sweet tooth and he hated the taste of unsweetened coffee.

He picked a booth by the window, purposefully keeping them away from the dark nooks and crannies the coffee shop provided. Although the place obviously catered to the rich, there were a few giggling couples cozied up in the corner booths, holding hands and kissing and making Armin’s heart ache.

Coffee with the businessman was not what he expected. Irwin sat across from him, sipping his beverage silently and staring through the window with an unreadable expression. Armin watched him, waiting for the pitch, for the suggestive look, for the hand on his knee underneath the table. He wasn’t stupid, and this wasn’t the first time an older man had tried to pick him up. Normally they came on a lot stronger than this, though. They leered, and made lewd remarks, and told Armin what they wanted to do to him. They assumed that because he was thin and blond that he must be a vapid little twink who would eventually succumb to their advances. It made him nervous, and he would normally get them to back off by saying he was waiting for his boyfriend to show up.

That wouldn’t work this time, obviously. Irwin already knew he didn’t have a boyfriend—not anymore—but he was being awfully not-creepy about the whole thing. For a wonder it seemed as though he was being genuinely considerate.

“So,” he said, breaking the long silence as he stared at Irwin over the top of his cup.

“Hmm?”

“Did you want to…talk or anything?”

“Only if you want to.” Armin didn’t know what to say to that, so he quickly looked down at the fancy paper cup in his hands and toyed with the cardboard sleeve. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know,” Armin muttered. He had thought he did, but now he wasn’t sure. “It’s just…we were dating almost a whole year. And the only reason I went over to his place was because I thought something bad might have happened to him. I was worried. I kept picturing all these horrible things, and then I walked in on him and…” He gritted his teeth together and ducked his head, running a hand through his hair. Jean had constantly been telling him he should get a haircut, but Armin liked having longer hair and the criticism had always bothered him. Even if he had agreed, he still wouldn’t have done it, just to get under Jean’s skin. Maybe that was part of the reason why all of this had happened. Not just with his hair, but with everything they did together.

“Was he your first boyfriend?”

Armin huffed. “I’m twenty-two,” he said.

“Was he?”

“…Yes. I mean, I didn’t come out until I was eighteen, so…,” he trailed off and shrugged, tracing the patterns in the grain of the table so that he wouldn’t have to look Irwin in the eye. He was shy. He always had been, and even after “coming out” he really hadn’t made any effort to date anybody until he’d met Jean, and then it had all been pretty one-sided. He had had coax Armin out of his relationship shell, inch by inch. And now look what he had done with that.

“The first time is always the worst,” Irwin said, leaning forward on his elbows and folding his hands in front of his face, “But you’ll recover.”

“If you say so.” This felt like the worst thing that could ever possibly happen to him. His whole body hurt. Even now he felt like he was on the verge of bursting into tears, and he could only marvel at how well he was doing at holding in all those roiling emotions.

They were silent again, and Armin stared out at the people passing by on the sidewalk outside. Jean was a miserable bastard, a stupid, condescending jerk who was always picking fights with Armin’s friends, but who had always seemed so caring, so _knowing_. _How could he do this to me?_ Armin thought again.

“I loved him, you know,” he said, looking up at the towering buildings. He couldn’t see the sun, but above them the sky was turning pink. “He was the first boy I ever loved like that, and now…” He made a dismissive gesture, as if he hoped to shove the whole matter down into some dark place where nobody would ever need to know any of it had ever happened.

“Armin,” Irwin said, regarding him with a serious, calculating expression. _Here it comes_ , he though bracing himself for the come on. “I should drive you back to your car.”

“Oh,” he said, taken aback, “Okay.”

Irwin’s car was probably the most expensive vehicle Armin had ever been inside. It was a Mercedes Benz E350 Bluetec, or at least that’s what the businessman told him when he asked. The seats were heated, and they were made of real leather, and Armin sat tensely on the passenger side, worried that he might inadvertently cause some damage.

“Where did you leave your car?” Irwin asked, smiling slightly at Armin’s obvious discomfort.

“It’s at…it’s um…,” Armin didn’t want to go home. He glanced at Irwin out of the corner of his eye, and then down at his tightly clenched hands.

“Armin?”

“I…w-would you…Can we…?”

“Yes?” He looked expectant, as if he knew what the little blond was trying to ask.

“I wouldn’t mind…going back to your place.” He couldn’t believe the words, even as they came out of his mouth. This was what he’d been worried about trying to avoid, and now he was suggesting it. Because why not? Why the fuck not? Jean had somebody else to fuck, so why not him? He knew it was foolish, and petty, but he didn’t care. Irwin was good looking. He was actually very handsome. Sort of _ridiculously_ handsome, in fact. Armin had been ignoring it until now, but he wondered what it would be like to have those big, strong-looking hands of his with their long, pianist’s roaming all over his body. _Oh, God, what is wrong with me?_

“If that’s what you want,” Irwin said noncommittally, as if it didn’t matter one way or another to him. Didn’t he see the turmoil that this decision was causing to Armin’s already frazzled mind? Swallowing hard, the little blond threw off his seatbelt and leaned over the center console. As he reached for Irwin, he was pleased to see he had taken the older man by surprise, but it was only for a second. Before he could react, he was being pulled forward into his lap, and one of those big hands was cupping the back of his head as Irwin’s mouth closed over his.

Armin froze as lips that were astonishingly soft pushed against his. A tongue swept across his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth without thinking. The hot digit thrust inside, stroking against his own tongue, and the intrusion seemed to jumpstart his brain. He reached up, gripping the lapels of Irwin’s coat and kissing him back with a hunger he would never have thought himself capable of. Not after the rest of today. He didn’t think the businessman expected him to be so enthusiastic, or so combative, though he also didn’t seem to mind. By the time they pulled apart Armin was breathless and Irwin was looking at him like he’d like to devour him whole.

“You don’t live too far away, do you?” Armin asked, and Irwin gave him that same, soft smile.

The drive back to his house took far too long. There was traffic, and Armin watched the quickly darkening city go by with a sense of quiet urgency. If he lost his nerve now, it would be far more embarrassing than the way that Irwin had found him crying on that bench.

When they finally seemed to have reached the businessman’s place of residence, Armin couldn’t help but gape. The penthouses in that particular part of town were the type of places his friends were always joking about living in one day, if they ever won the lottery. And Irwin was pulling into the parking garage, into an assigned spot it seemed, and climbing out like it was no big deal. Armin scrambled to follow him, staring at the man’s back with mounting apprehension. Just who was this man that he was preparing to sleep with?

“Y-you really live here, huh?” he asked nervously as Irwin showed him to the elevator.

“Yes. On the top floor.”

“O-oh?”

“Don’t be nervous, Armin.”

“I’m not nervous. What makes you think that I’m nervous?” he asked, voice too high, shoulders too tense. Irwin put a gentle hand in the small of his back, and ran the palm of it up and down his spine. The motion was oddly soothing, but not so much that he completely forgot where he was.

The apartment was enormous. Too big to really be called an apartment. Yes, penthouse was definitely an accurate term for what this was. Armin stood in the doorway, afraid to take as step inside. His shoes were beat up old Chuck Taylors, and even the floor in this place looked expensive. He might have stayed there all night, too, if Irwin hadn’t placed a guiding hand on his back and gently pushed him inside.

“Relax. Make yourself at home.”

“That’s okay, really, I can just—Is that a tosa inu?” he asked. There was a clicking of toenails on tile, and the enormous red dog the toes were attached to appeared, lumbering across the living room in a slow gait.

“Yes. How did you know?” Irwin asked.

“I’m a dog groomer,” Armin said as the dog approached, warily wagging his tail at the sight of a stranger. “Hey pup. Come on, I don’t bite,” he said, dropping down to doggy eye-level and patting his knees. As if some sort of spell had been broken, the dog trotted forward, head lowered and tail wagging as he came to greet the blond.

“Are you?”

“Yeah. Oh, he’s so _handsome_. Look at you, you’re _perfect_ ,” Armin said to the dog, “What’s his name?”

“Romulus,” Irwin replied.

“ _Romulus_ ,” Armin repeated, tugging at the dog’s ears and floppy jowls, “I’ve never seen one in real life before. They’re pretty rare.”

“He’s a show dog,” Irwin supplied, walking past them and draping his coat over the arm of a very expensive looking sofa, “I’m surprised that he likes you. He doesn’t usually warm up to people so fast, though most people are also afraid of him.”

“Pssh,” Armin scoffed, “How could anyone be afraid of something with such a sweet face?” Romulus woofed, as if in agreement, and flopped down to the floor, rolling onto his side so that Armin could scratch his belly.

“If you two are quite through…,” Irwin said, though he sounded amused. Armin got to his feet, flushing slightly at the display. He supposed he must have made a sight, cooing over dog that probably weighed more than he did. Romulus whined as Armin stepped away from him, toeing his shoes off and slipping off his jacket. He wasn’t really wearing much underneath. Just a t-shirt and jeans that he’d thrown on in his haste to go check on his boyfriend. Jean was always complaining about Armin smelling like dogs after he got off of work, and that was why Armin had bothered to change in the first place. Asshole.

“C-could I use your bathroom?” he asked, feeling stupid and awkward as Irwin directed him down the hallway. Armin carefully shut and locked the door behind him, and tried to ignore how even in here it was beautiful and far beyond anything he would ever have. He washed his hands in the sink, then splashed water on his face. “What am I doing here?” he asked his reflection. What he saw in the mirror was a boy who looked scared out of his mind, and more than a little sad. He didn’t want to feel sad. He wanted to feel anything _but_ that, to think of anything _but_ Jean.

Irwin was lounging on his sofa, legs crossed, arms spread out on the headrest behind him. Armin stared at him for a moment, watching from the doorway. If he wanted to he could run right past him, grab his shoes and his coat and be out the door in just a few seconds. He was sure Irwin wouldn’t even follow him, and once he was outside he could call a cab. But it was dark out, and the city looked unbelievable from way up here at the top of the world. He could see all of it through the enormous windows spanning the walls. It was beautiful, and Armin didn’t want to leave.

Taking a breath, he stepped out of the hall and padded over to the man waiting for him on the couch. Irwin reached for him as he climbed up onto the cushions, pulling him close until he was straddling the businessman’s lap. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Irwin asked, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down the younger man’s arms. He could probably see how uncertain Armin felt, but he pushed those feelings down. Tomorrow he might feel differently, but he had always been so sensible, so rational, and maybe sometimes that was a bad thing.

With a hand he traced the older man’s jaw, then leaned to kiss where his fingers had been before trailing his lips back up to that soft mouth, shaking as he ran his hands down the front of Irwin’s shirt. The suit-jacket he’d been wearing was already gone, leaving just the button-up underneath. As he reached down to tug the hem of the shirt out of his slacks, he felt Irwin’s hands on his shoulders, running up through his hair. Armin slipped a hand underneath the freed shirt and felt soft skin layered over hard muscle—the firmness of the body beneath his made his stomach flutter, and he gasped when Irwin kissed him again.

Jean had been Armin’s first everything. He’d had nothing else to compare his experiences with his moody now ex-boyfriend with until now. Jean had been aggressive in nearly everything he did, though never exactly forceful or demanding. Irwin kissed him deeply, luring Armin to forget everything, to throw himself into the heat of the other man’s body. Every touch was gentle, a question that Armin had to approve before he moved on. He pulled away from the kiss for air and let Irwin divest him of his shirt. Then he leaned down and kissed the businessman’s neck, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt and fighting the urge to just tear them away.

As the buttons opened, he followed the wake of his hands with his mouth, pushing back the collar of the shirt and kissing and nipping the soft skin of Irwin’s neck. Then he was moving down, sucking the hollow of his throat and, tasting his collarbone. Irwin smelled like what was probably some very expensive cologne, something soft like Armin had never smelled before. And he was built like all he did was lift weights all day. Maybe instead of a businessman he was actually one of those MMA fighters Jean liked to watch beat the crap out of each other, and Armin had just caught him leaving an interview or something.

He ran his hands down the sculpted torso, felt Irwin’s hands exploring him, though admittedly there really wasn’t much to find. Armin was small, but he wasn’t scrawny. Grooming was hard physical labor, and he wasn’t as dainty as people often pegged him to be. He trailed his lips down Irwin’s chest, and closed his mouth around a nipple, teasing it with his tongue. _What the hell am I doing?_ That seemed to be a recurring theme tonight. There was no nervousness now, no fear. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to feel good for a while.

“I can honestly say I didn’t expect this from you,” Irwin said, and Armin looked up to see the man wore a heavy-lidded, lustful stare.

“Neither did I.” He squirmed on Irwin’s lap, feeling the older man’s erection throbbing through his jeans. “Where’s the dog?” he asked almost as an afterthought, because a dog who saw his owner apparently cuddling with another human being was apt to join in, and Armin had no desire to be crushed by an overenthusiastic canine.

“I locked him in the spare bedroom.”

“Good.” With that, he reached down between their bodies and began undoing Irwin’s pants. He tugged the belt open, and slowly, teasingly slid his hand underneath the waistband of his briefs. Irwin slipped his hands down to rest on Armin’s waist, and their eyes locked as the younger man began to stroke him, drawing the pulsing cock out of the costly pair of slacks. Without even looking he could tell that Irwin was bigger than what he was used to, and for a moment that gave him pause. But he had come this far, and he was having a hard time with how tight his pants suddenly were. Irwin’s hands were moving again, resting on his hips as long fingers began to fondle him through the fabric. He shuddered, and leaned into the touch, moving his hand again on the older man’s burning shaft.

With a moan, he leaned down to kiss Irwin again, tugging on the businessman’s bottom lip with his teeth. “Does that feel good?” Irwin murmured, pulling Armin closer and pressing his lips to the squirming boy’s ear. Not to be outdone, Armin ground against him, eliciting a hiss as the rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against sensitive flesh. So he did it again, making the older man groan with longing. Instead of waiting for retaliation, Armin pulled back, sliding off of Irwin’s lap. Before the older man could ask where he was going, he knelt on the floor between his knees and reached once more for his throbbing length.

He started at the base, licking, following a pulsating vein all the way up to the head. Irwin watched him with apparent fascination, as if Armin were a puzzle he couldn’t make sense of, and that gave the little blond something of a thrill. Nobody had ever looked at him like that before. Everybody knew he was Armin, Armin the smart kid, Armin who was quiet and loyal to his friends, and who liked dogs and reading. They all thought he was so easily figured out, and he had always thought so as well. He tongued the slit of Irwin’s cock, then pulled the tip into his mouth, bobbing his head down and stroking what he couldn’t fit past his lips.

“Does _that_ feel good?” he asked, pulling off and kissing away a drop of precum. Irwin responded by grabbing him, tugging him back up onto his lap, and crushing their mouths together.

“Bedroom. Now,” he fairly growled. Armin was happy to comply.

There was lube on the bedside table. The young blond lifted his hips as Irwin finally finished undressing him by way of removing his jeans. Once they were gone, he leaned back and watched as the businessman grabbed the little bottle before ushering him further back on the bed. “Roll over,” he said, and Armin did so. His head was pounding, as was his heart, but he raised his hips and a moment later felt a cold, wet finger gently stroking against him. The other hand found his cock, and he pushed into it, begging to be touched. He wanted Irwin’s hands all over him, but they were preoccupied now and he whined for the older man to get on with it.

A long, lean finger pushed into him and he felt the moan tear from his lips before he could stop it. Irwin was still being gentle, but it felt as though his control was already slipping, and that seemed to be a fact the businessman didn’t like. He stroked Armin’s insides with a steady hand, adding a finger and scissoring the digits. “I’m not a virgin, y’know,” Armin groaned, gripping the sheets beneath him until his knuckles turned white. He felt Irwin falter, and pushed his hips back, saying with his body what he didn’t say out loud. _Fuck me_. That’s what he was here for. That’s what all this was about. Maybe it was a form of revenge, or maybe he just wanted to feel close to someone, but he didn’t think it mattered either way.

The fingers withdrew, and he sat up to watch Irwin slip on a condom before stroking lube onto an erection that frankly looked rather painful. He rolled onto his back when the businessman approached, reaching up and pulling the larger man down to kiss him again. “Make me feel good,” he murmured into his lips. Irwin sat up between his legs, pushing his thighs apart, and Armin closed his eyes at the onset of pressure at his entrance. The head eased in, and he tilted his hips up, wrapping his legs around Irwin’s waist in an effort to pull him deeper.

“You’re going to make me come if you keep that up,” Irwin rumbled down at him.

“That’s the plan, right?” Armin shot back. “Ah!” He helped as the older man thrust into him, sheathing himself completely in one fell swoop. Dammit, he was big. Almost too big for comfort, and he was moving already, pulling back, then pushing in again, adopting a steady, agonizingly sensuous rhythm. “Oh, God,” Armin groaned. “ _Ohhh_ , fuck!” He was never so noisy. He moaned, and whimpered, but he didn’t cry out. He didn’t yell, but he did tonight.

Irwin was groaning above him, moving faster. Armin sobbed as the enormous cock inside him ground against his prostate with every pass, sending stars exploding behind his eyelids. He heard himself begging for more, for Irwin to go deeper and harder, even though he never said things like that. And Irwin complied, moving faster, pumping into him so hard that he could hear the smacking of their flesh coming together. “That’s—oh, it’s so fucking good!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth Irwin stopped, withdrawing completely and leaving Armin feeling empty and incomplete. “No,” he whined.

“Roll over,” Irwin said again, voice thick and husky.

“I want to see your face,” Armin protested, but he did as he was told. He wanted to watch the older man’s expression when he came, but he wanted him to keep fucking him even more. His hips were yanked up, and he felt an overwhelming sense of relief when the cock was pushed back home and the vigorous driving thrusts resumed, harder even than before. The blond shouted his pleasure into the mattress as Irwin once again began stroking his cock. _God, I’m so close, please, oh, please_. He couldn’t tell if he was speaking out loud anymore, nor did he care. He just wanted to come, wanted Irwin to make him forget everything.

He felt Irwin leaning over him, felt one of those large hands close over his smaller one. Time stopped, and a jolt of white-hot burning pleasure exploded through him, crackling from the place where their bodies met outward to all other parts of him and ending in his brain. He couldn’t see, or hear, or feel anything else, not even when Irwin came and collapsed on top of him, whispering that he was unbelievable.

When he regained his senses it was to find himself curled up in the older man’s arms, already half-asleep. He felt sore, and warm, and his whole body pulsed with the afterglow of their exertions. “Damn,” he murmured when he saw that Irwin was already asleep. Tomorrow he would probably regret all of this. No, not probably—definitely. Tomorrow he would definitely wonder what had gotten into him, and feel guilty and stupid, but for now he was too tired. He closed his eyes and buried his face into the crook of Irwin’s neck, and promptly fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written smut in ten thousand years. Well, more like two or three. Waaahhh, I'm already thinking of writing a sequel, whhaaat is my life. *kickflips into the sun* Anyway, thank you for reading, I'm going to bed now.


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